Emily Dickinson

Those fair — fictitious People —
The Women — plucked away
From our familiar Lifetime —
The Men of Ivory —

Those Boys and Girls, in Canvas —
Who stay upon the Wall
In Everlasting Keepsake —
Can Anybody tell?

We trust — in places perfecter —
Inheriting Delight
Beyond our faint Conjecture —
Our dizzy Estimate —

Remembering ourselves, we trust —
Yet Blesseder — than We —
Through Knowing — where We only hope —
Receiving — where we — pray —

Of

Those final Creatures, — who they are —
That, faithful to the close,
Administer her ecstasy,
But just the Summer knows.
-Emily Dickinson

Those not live yet
Who doubt to live again —
“Again” is of a twice
But this — is one —
The Ship beneath the Draw
Aground — is he?
Death — so — the Hyphen of the Sea —
Deep is the Schedule
Of the Disk to be —
Costumeless Consciousness —
That is he —
-Emily Dickinson

Those who have been in the Grave the longest —
Those who begin Today —
Equally perish from our Practise —
Death is the other way —

Foot of the Bold did least attempt it —
It — is the White Exploit —
Once to achieve, annuls the power
Once to communicate —
-Emily Dickinson

Though the great Waters sleep,
That they are still the Deep,
We cannot doubt —
No vacillating God
Ignited this Abode
To put it out —
-Emily Dickinson

Three Weeks passed since I had seen Her —
Some Disease had vext
‘Twas with Text and Village Singing
I beheld Her next

And a Company — our pleasure
To discourse alone —
Gracious now to me as any —
Gracious unto none —

Borne without dissent of Either
To the Parish night —
Of the Separated Parties
Which be out of sight?
-Emily Dickinson

Three times — we parted — Breath — and I —
Three times — He would not go —
But strove to stir the lifeless Fan
The Waters — strove to stay.

Three Times — the Billows tossed me up —
Then caught me — like a Ball —
Then made Blue faces in my face —
And pushed away a sail

That crawled Leagues off — I liked to see —
For thinking — while I die

Through lane it lay — through bramble —
Through clearing and through wood —
Banditti often passed us
Upon the lonely road.

The wolf came peering curious —
The owl looked puzzled down —
The serpent’s satin figure
Glid stealthily along —

The tempests touched our garments —
The lightning’s poinards gleamed —
Fierce from the Crag above us
The hungry Vulture screamed —

The satyr’s fingers beckoned —
The valley murmured “Come” —
These were the mates —
This was the road
Those children

Through the Dark Sod — as Education —
The Lily passes sure —
Feels her white foot — no trepidation —
Her faith — no fear —

Afterward — in the Meadow —
Swinging her Beryl Bell —
The Mold-life — all forgotten — now —
In Ecstasy — and Dell —
-Emily Dickinson

Through the strait pass of suffering —
The Martyrs — even — trod.
Their feet — upon Temptations —
Their faces — upon God —

A stately — shriven — Company —
Convulsion — playing round —
Harmless — as streaks of Meteor —
Upon a Planet’s Bond —

Their faith — the everlasting troth —
Their Expectation — fair —
The Needle — to the North Degree —
Wades — so — thro’ polar Air!

Through those old Grounds of memory,
The sauntering alone
Is a divine intemperance
A prudent man would shun.
Of liquors that are vended
‘Tis easy to beware
But statutes do not meddle
With the internal bar.
Pernicious as the sunset
Permitting to pursue
But impotent to gather,
The tranquil perfidy
Alloys our firmer moments
With that severest gold
Convenient to the longing
But otherwise withheld.
-Emily Dickinson

Through what transports of Patience
I reached the stolid Bliss
To breathe my Blank without thee
Attest me this and this —
By that bleak exultation
I won as near as this
Thy privilege of dying
Abbreviate me this —
-Emily Dickinson

‘Tis little I — could care for Pearls —
Who own the ample sea —
Or Brooches — when the Emperor —
With Rubies — pelteth me —

Or Gold — who am the Prince of Mines —
Or Diamonds — when have I
A Diadem to fit a Dom —
Continual upon me —
-Emily Dickinson

‘Tis my first night beneath the Sun
If I should spend it here —
Above him is too low a height
For his Barometer
Who Airs of expectation breathes
And takes the Wind at prime —
But Distance his Delights confides
To those who visit him —
-Emily Dickinson

‘Tis not that Dying hurts us so —
‘Tis Living — hurts us more —
But Dying — is a different way —
A Kind behind the Door —

The Southern Custom — of the Bird —
That ere the Frosts are due —
Accepts a better Latitude —
We — are the Birds — that stay.

The Shrivers round Farmers’ doors —
For whose reluctant Crumb —
We stipulate — till pitying Snows
Persuade our Feathers Home.

‘Tis not the swaying frame we miss,
It is the steadfast Heart,
That had it beat a thousand years,
With Love alone had bent,
Its fervor the electric Oar,
That bore it through the Tomb,
Ourselves, denied the privilege,
Consolelessly presume —
-Emily Dickinson

‘Tis so much joy! ‘Tis so much joy!
If I should fail, what poverty!
And yet, as poor as I,
Have ventured all upon a throw!
Have gained! Yes! Hesitated so —
This side the Victory!

Life is but Life! And Death, but Death!
Bliss is, but Bliss, and Breath but Breath!
And if indeed I fail,
At least, to know the worst, is sweet!
Defeat means nothing but Defeat,
No drearier, can befall!

And if I gain! Oh Gun at

‘Tis Sunrise — Little Maid — Hast Thou
No Station in the Day?
‘Twas not thy wont, to hinder so —
Retrieve thine industry —

‘Tis Noon — My little Maid —
Alas — and art thou sleeping yet?
The Lily — waiting to be Wed —
The Bee — Hast thou forgot?

My little Maid — ‘Tis Night — Alas
That Night should be to thee
Instead of Morning — Had’st thou broached
Thy little Plan to Die —
Dissuade

‘Tis One by One — the Father counts —
And then a Tract between
Set Cypherless — to teach the Eye
The Value of its Ten —

Until the peevish Student
Acquire the Quick of Skill —
Then Numerals are dowered back —
Adorning all the Rule —

‘Tis mostly Slate and Pencil —
And Darkness on the School
Distracts the Children’s fingers —
Still the Eternal Rule

Regards least Cypherer alike
With Leader of the Band —
And every separate Urchin’s Sum

‘Tis Opposites — entice —
Deformed Men — ponder Grace —
Bright fires — the Blanketless —
The Lost — Day’s face —

The Blind — esteem it be
Enough Estate — to see —
The Captive — strangles new —
For deeming — Beggars — play —

To lack — enamor Thee —
Tho’ the Divinity —
Be only
Me —
-Emily Dickinson

‘Tis Seasons since the Dimpled War
In which we each were Conqueror
And each of us were slain
And Centuries ’twill be and more
Another Massacre before
So modest and so vain —
Without a Formula we fought
Each was to each the Pink Redoubt —
-Emily Dickinson

‘Tis so appalling — it exhilarates —
So over Horror, it half Captivates —
The Soul stares after it, secure —
A Sepulchre, fears frost, no more —

To scan a Ghost, is faint —
But grappling, conquers it —
How easy, Torment, now —
Suspense kept sawing so —

The Truth, is Bald, and Cold —
But that will hold —
If any are not sure —
We show them — prayer —
But we, who know,
Stop hoping, now —

Looking

‘Tis true — They shut me in the Cold —
But then — Themselves were warm
And could not know the feeling ’twas —
Forget it — Lord — of Them —

Let not my Witness hinder Them
In Heavenly esteem —
No Paradise could be — Conferred
Through Their beloved Blame —

The Harm They did — was short — And since
Myself — who bore it — do —
Forgive Them — Even as Myself —
Or else

‘Tis whiter than an Indian Pipe —
‘Tis dimmer than a Lace —
No stature has it, like a Fog
When you approach the place —
Nor any voice imply it here
Or intimate it there
A spirit — how doth it accost —
What function hat the Air?
This limitless Hyperbole
Each one of us shall be —
‘Tis Drama — if Hypothesis
It be not Tragedy —

Tie the Strings to my Life, My Lord,
Then, I am ready to go!
Just a look at the Horses —
Rapid! That will do!

Put me in on the firmest side —
So I shall never fall —
For we must ride to the Judgment —
And it’s partly, down Hill —

But never I mind the steeper —
And never I mind the Sea —
Held fast in Everlasting Race —
By my own Choice, and Thee —

Goodbye